


Tonight Will Be Fine

by ruric



Category: Leverage, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: comment_fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-16
Updated: 2009-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:10:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trust me</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight Will Be Fine

The reason Eliot likes drinking here is because it’ll never be hip enough to get the A-list through the door, or the B or C list, but neither is it close enough to the bottom of the pile to attract the poor little rich kids who’re slumming looking for danger and excitement.

The customers who come here, as well as the staff and owner, can be summed up in one word – discreet. If they aren’t they don’t last long - the bouncers know who to keep out as well as who to let in.

So he knows he can do a little drinking, a lot of flirting and more if things work out – and can be assured that none of it will ever pass the doors of club. In his line of work that’s a very good thing.

Tonight his gaze keeps being drawn back to a table in the corner where three guys are drinking and laughing. Judging by the way two of them keep touching they’re together but it’s the third guy he can’t stop looking at. Tall, hair woven into thick dreads and Eliot can see the glint of silver when the guy leans forward into the light. The black wifebeater does nothing to hide the muscles or the ink decorating his skin and Eliot’s mouth goes dry when the guy looks up and holds his gaze.

Half an hour later and he’s beginning to wonder whether he’s losing his touch or whether the guy really is straight. 

He turns back to the bar, orders another long neck and has just taken a deep mouthful when he realises tall, dark and heavily muscled is standing right next to him. Brown eyes are sending him a frankly assessing look and Eliot thinks his luck might just be on the up.

He swallows hard and sets the beer back on the bar.

“Want to go out back?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

For a moment Eliot thinks he’s misheard but the look he’s getting is one of incomprehension. He’s tired of this going nowhere and if all he’s going get to do is look then sure as hell he’s going to _look_.

Brown eyes to high cheekbones, the strong line of his chin beneath the goatee and Eliot’s gaze pauses at the small tat on his neck. Drops to see the pulse jump in his throat, broad expanse of chest narrowing down towards his waist and Eliot’s fingers curl wanting to pull the material away and touch the skin beneath. Shiny belt buckle and Eliot hears a huff of breath but he keeps his gaze down ‘til there’s no excuse at all for misread signals.

When he finally looks up it’s to see eyes gone wider with recognition and the merest twitch of lips which could be interpreted as a smile.

“Sure. Let’s go.”

Eliot leads the way out of the bar and into the stalls and when a hand closes on his shoulder he’s ready to lean back. But the hand tightens to hold him still and fingers pat across his shoulders, the small of his back before he’s turned and they ghost across his chest and belly - looking for weapons or a wire and now Eliot’s curious.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“’I’m careful who I trust.”

Eliot just nods – trust’s not really something that should be given without being earned.

He’s been waiting to find out what the guy tastes like for an hour so he reaches out, fingers sliding under the dreads, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss. The kiss is hungry and wanting and leaves Eliot in no doubt about where this is going.

Panted breaths between deep kisses and Eliot’s fingers are working the guy’s belt buckle but his eyes are caught by the tat again. Neat little symbol, three dots and two parallel lines with the final line having another coming off at it and a symbol so precise has to mean something.

“Where’d you get the tat?”

He’s not really interested, just asking because most guys will loosen up a little if you get them talking about their ink.

“Military.”

The word is short and damn near growled out and now Eliot really is interested. 

The buckle comes loose in his hand and the ink can wait. Eliot drops smoothly to his knees and his mouth’s watering when he inhales the musky scent of the guy. He might’ve just paused to pay his respects because....well hello! There’s a muffled snort from somewhere above him and he looks up to see the guy’s lips twitching into the smallest of grins. Eliot shoots him a raised eyebrow and a wink because he’s always willing to apply himself to a challenge.

Eliot’s hands cup around the guy’s hips and he licks his lips, mouth sliding down over heat and hardness and then he loses himself. Loses himself in the taste and scent and weight of the guy’s dick in his mouth and he barely feels the fingers winding into his hair, lifting it clear of his face. Eliot’s good at this and he balances the anticipation and the teasing with giving the guy what he wants.

Until he’s hauled up - damn near lifted to his feet – and pulled into a kiss that steals his breath leaving him gasping before being spun around. The metal of the stall is cold under his cheek and he’s trying to find the breath to stop the guy ‘til he hears the ripping of paper. One hand fumbling at his belt buckle and Eliot’s fingers are digging around in his pocket for the tube of slick - cause he’s ready but not _that_ ready – and he presses it back into the palm of the guy’s hand.

He’s answered by a soft huff of laughter and Eliot doesn’t think he’s ever heard laughter sound so goddamn hungry.

Cool slick spread onto and into him and Eliot’s about to suck down a deep breath but the guy’s right _there_ pushing into him slowly. The pressure, heat and sheer damn hunger for it brings him up onto his toes even as his hands flatten against the metal seeking to shove himself up and back and _down_.

Eliot can feel the tension in his shoulders and back, in the way his body’s tightening around this guy he’s never seen before and probably never will again, and he’s braced for the hips slamming forward but it doesn’t happen.

Instead hands curve around him holding him still and there’s a whisper of warm breath stirring his hair.

“Wait.”

He waits. 

Waits to feel the graze of teeth over the nub of bone at the base of his neck, waits while the hot pressure of a tongue licks away the sting. He waits heart hammering against his ribs in a frantic rhythm, waits and sucks in short panted breaths that do nothing to fill his lungs. Waits while his skin gooses in anticipation and his body screams at him to move.

The hand he tears from the metal wall, reaching down to touch himself, is knocked away. The stranger’s fingers wrap close around him and he can feel calluses on the fingers and palm holding him. The weight and breadth of the guy is plastered to Eliot from his ass to the back of his neck. Strong fingers wind into his hair pulling his head back and the graze of the guy’s goatee against his neck makes Eliot shiver.

“I said wait.”

Warm breath against his ear and Eliot lets go. Feels the tension ease out of shoulders, neck and back, releases the breath he’s been half holding ‘til there’s no air left in his lungs at all and he finds he can breathe again.

Then the guy’s hip roll back and the sound pulled from Eliot is way too close to a gasp. He finds all he has to do is brace them because the hand on his hip – and the hand wrapped around him jerking him in a slow steady rhythm to match the movement of the guy’s hips - is taking care of everything else.

In this Eliot trusts the stranger. Trusts the hands on him and the dick inside him, finds somehow their bodies fit and move together, breaths coming harsher and faster, the hand stripping him speeding up to match incessant and inexorable roll and thrust of their hips until they tumble over the edge.

The stall that seemed plenty big enough when they crowded into it seems too small to accommodate two guys cleaning up and tucking themselves back into jeans.

Eliot steps out first washes his hands and waits for the guy – cause a gentleman doesn’t leave first and Eliot was raised in all things to have manners.

“Got a name?”

The look he gets is suspicious and Eliot half expects the guy to turn and walk away.

“Ronon.”

“Pleased to meet you Ronon, I’m Eliot.”

He grins and holds out his hand, waits for Ronon to shake it and find the card he’s palmed. Eliot doesn’t _do_ this. Doesn’t tell casual pick-ups how to find him, but this guy....this Ronon, he’s different.

He thinks he’s made a mistake when Ronon scowls down at the card bearing Eliot’s name, an anonymous email (almost impossible to trace thanks to Hardison unless the guy...Ronon has access to some serious technology) and a cell number. When Ronon looks back up at him Eliot knows the card’s going to find its way into the trash.

Then Ronon’s lips twitch, pass right on through a smile and widen into a real grin which strips away all the surface sternness and projected taciturnity. Years of experience fall away, Ronon looks 10 years younger and Eliot feels like he’s standing in a beam of brilliant sunshine.

So he does something else he never does. 

He winds his fingers back into the thick dreads and pulls Ronon in for a long slow kiss that’s got nothing to do with sex or hunger and everything to do with promises to be kept.

He breaks free and pulls the door open, steps through with Ronon following close behind.

“Call me?” 

Eliot tosses the words back over his shoulder and it’s a request not an order cause Eliot get the feeling that Ronon’s had enough of orders.

“I will.”

Eliot’s grinning has he heads out of the bar, past the table in the corner. One day he hopes he might know who those two guys are but trust and the answers to the questions he wants to ask are going to come slowly and with time.

Luckily Eliot can be very patient when the prize is worth waiting for.


End file.
